And the Stars Never Rise
by fandomsruinedmylife17
Summary: One-shots following the end of Lady Midnight. Angst.
1. Emma

"Emma, I will never, never give up on you." Julian had said.

"Yes," she'd replied. "You will."

The words still echoed in her head. She had to hurt him to save him. The most important thing was that he was safe. She thought she could handle it if he hated her. She couldn't. It was even worse that he didn't hate her. And that he wouldn't hate her. And he'd promised to never give up on her. And that's what hurt the most. She loved him. She couldn't have him. He loved her.

"If you and Mark ever... I don't think I could come back from that."

The worst thing she could do to shatter his heart, his feelings for her. It hadn't worked. And she'd still loved him fiercer than before. She could see the pain in his eyes every time he saw her kiss Mark, and felt the anger and sorrow. Her chest tightened as she thought it should be him. Her Julian. But she couldn't think like that. He wasn't her Julian. Not anymore.

"Jules. My Julian." She'd whispered on the beach.

"Always."

It was obvious. The tension between her and Julian. She was sure even Tavvy could see it and he was still so young. For their sake she'd tried to act as if everything was normal. Julian was always the one who could lie, not her. The way that when he did look at her, it was filled with betrayal. But neither of them could say anything, because nobody could know. Not that the kids would care. They'd broken the Cold Peace and gotten away with it and they loved Emma. His family was her family.

"Why lie?"

Emma had explained everything to Mark. Everything. She'd cried. He had agreed to do it. They'd kissed. They had done other things. She'd wanted to talk to Christina. Looking back, she'd thought about it a lot. It was now, alone on the beach, she thought the most. Their secret beach. Though, they didn't really go there together any more. The beach, where it had all started, where Julian had saved her life. And that it was too late.

Her feet digging into the sand as she looked out onto the ocean. She'd always been afraid of it. It was dark and silvery with the reflection of the moon in the night sky, small waves sending ripples through it's surface. Her parents had been found dead in it. She'd almost drowned.

Most mornings she would get up early and go for a run, it wasn't unusual, she'd done it a long time. She'd avoid breakfast that Julian had made for Ty, Livia, Dru and Tavvy. She'd train on her own. Avoidance seemed to be the best thing she could think of. Maybe if she didn't see Julian, she would want him less, she would love him less. She wouldn't. She needed to love Mark. She and Mark would make sense. She had almost, almost had a crush on him at twelve years old and he'd barely seemed to age since the Hunt had taken him at sixteen. It had been five years.

She never thought she'd grow used to the numbness of not being with Julian. He said he'd loved her for trying to protect him, and the children. She wanted to run into his arms, pull him close, kiss him. That would defeat everything she'd been trying hard to hide. To tell him she loved him and had always loved him and would always love him. Being without him was almost worse than death itself. She couldn't tell him about the curse or think about his reaction. She'd tried so hard to make him hate her, never trust her.

For now she would have to make do with being alone. Crying on the beach. Wishing she could make him understand what she didn't even understand. They didn't want power. They just wanted to be happy. They would never be.


	2. Jules

He didn't know which was worse: the fact Emma was kissing Mark, or the fact that he knew she loved him and was still kissing Mark. And she knew he loved her. And somehow he knew she was trying to break his heart. And he didn't know why, she wouldn't tell him. It was working and it wasn't. He felt his chest tighten whenever he saw them but he was sure Emma wouldn't do this without a reason. He trusted her, his Emma. And if she thought doing this would make him love her any less, she was wrong. She was so very wrong. And he'd told her as much. She was doing it for him. She was doing it for their kids. Except they weren't his children, they were his brothers and sisters. But he still had to take care of them, because he loved them.

Somehow he loved her more. Like his love had doubled for her each day since they were twelve years old. When he wouldn't let them make Emma go to the Academy in Idris. He knew then that they shouldn't become parabatai. He'd know she'd had a crush on Jace, possibly a crush on Mark. But they were crushes, they'd fade. If he'd known how much he could love her he wouldn't have done it. But there was no way to tie Emma to him, she wasn't a Blackthorn. Their family was breaking apart as it was. His mother had died when he was ten. The Hunt had taken Mark. He had killed his father. And Helen had been exiled to Wrangle Island.

The older he got, the harder it was to hide. Emma lived with them now. And nobody had forgotten the Dark War. Arthur wouldn't love the children, Arthur wouldn't take care of the children. Julian would provide for them. Julian would love them and care for them. At twelve years old, he was the one writing to the Clave, the werewolves, the vampires and warlocks fighting over faerie territory. The children would wake up with nightmares. He would console them. But when he woke up screaming for Helen or Mark, it would be Emma that held him shaking on the cold tiles of the bathroom floor. Emma who would train till she was worn out then kept going. It was Emma who'd been his light in his darkest times. His biggest secret.

Emma who was smart. Emma who was funny. Emma who could throw two knives at once into the heart of a target. Emma who was beautiful. With her brown eyes and their flecks of gold. With her blonde hair which was more of a caramel colour with gold and silver and honey. Emma who he would burn the world down for and not regret a thing. Emma in his arms, dancing close to him at the midnight theatre. Emma who he'd carried, almost dying, out of the ocean. Who he'd laid with on the sand. Who filled his heart and his studio and knew it.

Emma who he'd hidden it all from for five years. The girl he'd fallen irreversibly in love with in every way. And now the secret had escaped, he couldn't stop it. He couldn't be angry at Mark, Mark didn't know. He couldn't show it to anyone else, anyone who might tell the Clave or judge him. He couldn't hate Emma. Ever. There was nothing she could do to make him hate her. Even this. The thought of Mark being with her and not him. Knowing this isn't what Emma wanted. Emma trying to ignore his confrontations. They had to pretend, of course, that it was okay. Because they had the kids. The kids couldn't know anything was wrong. The children couldn't live on their own without him. Not with Arthur. He'd told so many lies but this had been the hardest, the one he regretted most. The lie that hurt him every day. Seeing her every day and not being with her. Seeing her with Mark.

 _"And if my heart were a canvas, every square inch of it would be painted over with you."_


	3. Kit

And just like that, his father had been basically shredded to pieces. The demons had still been there, but they were all covered in his father's blood. Even Kit. He had been sure he was going to die. And had he been alone, he definitely would. There were so many, they were so close. And his father had abandoned him. Abandoned his own son to protect himself. He had known something like this might happen. But so soon? And this bad? He hadn't been trained for this. He was fifteen. The stench of demon ichor had reeked when he'd thrown a chair at one advancing on him. He'd known at the time he shouldn't have been able to do that, but with adrenaline coursing through him, he knew that he had bigger problems. Much bigger problems.

And then the blonde girl, Emma Carstairs, from the shadow market had burst through the door, weapons blazing, with two others. He'd seen them too. And the brown haired woman had called him by his full name. Christopher Jonathan. Nobody called him that. And a name he hadn't recognised. Herondale. Kit Rook, son of Johnny Rook, that's who he'd always been. Everything was loud and there was more blood, more demons screeching as they were decapitated. And then he was hauled out, alive, from his home.

He hadn't wanted to talk the entire journey. It was their fault. They did this. They put him in danger and let his father die and killed the guardian. He'd had to watch his own father die and then fight for his own life. And these almost strangers wanted him to talk to them. Yeah, right. Like, he'd trust shadowhunters. His father had told him all about them. He wasn't stupid.

Except maybe he had been. If his only source of information was his father... That would mean fifteen years of lies. Fifteen years of not having friends. Except When. But they weren't really friends. Sure they were the same age, she was cute, they flirted. But she was dead now, so it didn't matter. His dad was dead. Wren was dead. He didn't have a mom. Wow, his life sucked.

And now he was one of them. He'd wanted to refuse it. But if he didn't stay with them, he'd probably die. Die in the same way his father had done. And then he'd opened that door and stumbled through. And he'd been there. The boy who'd held a knife to his throat. How beautiful had been his first thought and the boy hadn't been phased at his dramatic entrance.

It is been several days since Kit had last left his room. A room he chose to be s fr as possible from them. The Blackthorns. They said he had to stay, to be safe. They didn't say he'd have to see them or speak to them. He wasn't in the mood to see them or speak to them. Besides, they didn't know him, what would they care. He wasn't and would never be one of them.


End file.
